On The Run To You
by eyesdyedblack
Summary: “You are not Sirius’ only correspondent,” said Dumbledore. How true this statement was. Sirius also kept in contact with someone else that neither Harry nor Dumbledore knew about…
1. Imprisoned

**Disclaimer:** I own them all! Heh, I wish. I don't own anyone. Ooh except for the girl. I created her._  
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_"You are not Sirius' only correspondent," said Dumbledore. How true this statement was. Sirius also kept in contact with someone else that neither Harry nor Dumbledore knew about…_

**On The Run To You**

Chapter One: **_"Imprisoned"_**

The air was still as the tiny boat moved through the calm water. The only sound being made was the gentle lapping of waves against the wooden keel. A lone figure sat silently in the boat as it swished along through the water, rocking back and forth slightly as she neared her destination. The water became choppy, the waves pushing the little boat like claws, urging her to turn back but she started determinedly forwards and made no noise as the waves pushed and pulled her little boat around as small children would fight over an old rag doll.

Pushing through the final of the vast waves, she pulled her boat high onto the sand and looked up as someone in a long, dark and flowing cloak greeted her. She shuddered and tried to regain her composure as the remaining shreds of happiness she had left in her disappeared and she was left cold and more miserable than she had ever been in her entire life.

They walked silently through huge, rusting wrought iron gates and she was led past numerous grimy cells full of men and women, muttering to themselves or sitting in the darkness, still as statues and twice as silent. She kept her head held high as she walked past these shadows of real people, not daring to look left or right for fear of breaking down completely.

It seemed like she were walking for hours, led by these mysterious creatures that seemed to glide rather than walk. She knew what kind of creatures these were. Dementors were among the foulest of anything that lived in the wizarding world, feared by all who came across them and even more by those unlucky enough to be in custody of them. Azkaban. The word alone made her shudder and the fact that she was actually there made her skin crawl and a scream threatened to erupt from her throat. Everywhere she turned, another hooded figure stood by, watching her with non-existent eyes. Their scabbed hands reached out from their ragged sleeves as though wanting nothing more than to touch her and suck the very essence of her being out of her, leaving her as empty as any of the people in the cells around her. She barely dared to even call them people anymore. They used to be people. Happy, talkative, energetic people who made the wrong choice and ended up the empty shells they now deserved to be named.

After what seemed an eternity, the hooded Dementors stopped suddenly and one of them swept their arm aside, indicating to one of the cells in a long line of them. Holding her head high, she walked unsteadily over to the cell door and reached forward, grasping one of the bars for support. Kneeling down on the ground next to the cell door she peered inside and watched as an enormous black dog scratched violently at the cold stone walls, leaving deep indentations in the bricks. Snarling, the beast ran around the tiny cell, blindly running into the walls as it underestimated the size of his prison. Each time it crashed into the bricks, it yelped in pain and the girl eventually had to look away to stop from yelping in pain herself. It broke her heart to see the animal so desperate to escape from his incarceration.

Slowly, without looking to see where she was going, she reached out her hand through the bars and grasped a handful of fur, pulling it towards her. The animal yelped at the sudden contact and turned to snap at whatever was controlling him but stopped at the last minute. For the first time in the two weeks the animal had been there, he stopped and listened intently as the woman whispered into his ear.

As the small boat slowly headed back toward the mainland, the water became calmer and the tiny boat sailed more evenly. Her happiness returned and the cold feeling left her. And as she headed away from the prison, the sound of a dog howling became fainter and fainter.

Twelve years later, the dog escaped.

**I just had this idea suddenly when I was in the car, backing into our driveway with my mum. I kid you not! Anyway, let me see what you all think and please tell me whether or not it is worth going on with it! It is short, I know. I am excited about this story cos I already know the ending yay! R & R please.**


	2. Escape

"_You are not Sirius' only correspondent," said Dumbledore. How true this statement was. Sirius also kept in contact with someone else that neither Harry nor Dumbledore knew about…_

**On The Run To You**

Chapter Two: **_"Escape"_**

He had been counting the days, the hours and the very minutes he had been locked in such a prison. Twelve years he waited. Waited for death, waited for insanity and then suddenly his wait was over and his fate was easily better than he had imagined it to be. For days he ate nothing. Not that it was such a huge sacrifice to stop eating. Barely anyone in Azkaban ate the food given to them. They starved themselves of food just as the Dementors starved them of happiness and eventually they passed to a better place. Such creatures were suited to guarding a place such as Azkaban. They tormented each and every prisoner in the place, not with words, not even with actions but merely by passing by their cell could make a prisoner sink further into their own depression.

He knew death would eventually be the only way out of the place that had made him so detached from the rest of the world. Only a stones throw from reality, it often seemed as though he were living in a place purely created for him and others like him, trapped inside their own heads, every bad memory circling their minds like vultures, occasionally swooping down and pecking at the remaining flesh, or, in the prisoners case, their good memories.

Once or twice, the black dog would lay down on the floor and become a man. A man whose skin was sallow, his face gaunt, etched with fear, his hair tousled and dirty. The truth was, when he was a dog, he almost looked the same. The beast he had become began to mirror the beast he had always been able to transform into at will. But now, he was a beast whether he were a man or a dog.

He liked to think he kept his sanity better than anyone else in the wretched prison. He later told somebody who asked, that he kept himself from going as mad as others do in Azkaban and he told them, almost truthfully, that he kept himself that way by knowing he were different to all others in Azkaban. He knew he was innocent.

Peter Pettigrew. How he loathed that man, even the name sent shivers down his spine and made him growl with anger, whether he was in the form of a dog or not. He had been sent to Azkaban for something this man had done. Something unforgivable had happened to innocent muggles and he, alone, had been targeted for taking the blame for committing such a sin.

He had always known that he would either die or escape from his hateful prison. After those muggles had been maliciously murdered, he was taken immediately to Azkaban. And for two weeks he ran rampage, using all the strength he could muster. But then one day, a visitor made him silent for the first time in those fifteen days. She made him a promise and he hoped to all the heavens that one day, he would live to see her keep it.

As the years went by, however, he began to realise that death would be his only escape. And then suddenly things changed. Pettigrew was alive. And this time, he would not escape the fate he deserved. The man, in one moment of sanity he could pull together, took the paper from the newest Minister of Magic who seemed incredibly shocked at how calmly the man was acting.

And there was Pettigrew, leering at him from the front page of the paper, teasing him for escaping what should have been rightly his punishment all those years ago. And then replaced by the man was the dog once again. He stopped eating and slipped through the bars of his prison, ignoring the Dementors as they glided past him, their close proximity almost impossible to bear. With the remaining strength he had in him, he swam determinedly towards the shore before collapsing in a heap, his strength gone, his body and mind fragile with hunger and twelve years worth of mental weakening.

When he awoke, in pain and hungry, he made his way towards the nearest shop where he scrounged for food and even caught sight of the most recent newspaper. Where, on the front page, a headline bore the words "**Sirius Black escaped**".

**Okay, so that wasn't the most interesting chapter but I just wanted to give Sirius his own little insight. In the coming chapters I will try to develop a relationship between Sirius and mysterious woman who came to see him in the first chapter. What kind of a relationship? You will just have to wait and see ;)**


	3. Unhappiness

_"You are not Sirius' only correspondent," said Dumbledore. How true this statement was. Sirius also kept in contact with someone else that neither Harry nor Dumbledore knew about… _

**On The Run To You**

**Chapter Two: _"Unhappiness"_ **

Sirius gorged himself on whatever scraps of food her could find, these mere morsels of food tasting like fine cuisine when compared to the food he had received in Azkaban. When he finished, he threw up and then threw up again but after some rest, he felt as though he were able to go on. For three days Sirius found shelter by curling up inside bushes or even under a park bench and lived quite suitably off scraps of food he found in garbage bins behind restaurants and other eating establishments.

The world had changed since he had been imprisoned. No longer were Voldemort's Death Eaters roaming the streets, taking innocent people into their custody and brutally torturing or killing them if they did not join the league of dark wizards. Sirius looked around him, trying not to make himself too conspicuous. It was not only muggles who found an inquisitive dog alarming.

_"He's at Hogwarts…"_

He knew he had been muttering this sentence in his sleep. He knew because that was all he ever thought about these days. Ever since he saw that newspaper article. _He_ was the one that put Sirius in prison. _He_ was the one that made the very life that Sirius led a hell, only bearable to some and excruciating to most.

And then there was her.

She made a promise to him that she would wait for him. No matter what happened, he always knew that when, if, he ever got out, she would be waiting for him, arms open and inviting, just like they always were.

All Sirius knew was that he wanted to find a place where he could become human again and write to her, to tell her that he was out and he was coming to find her.

_You escaped from Azkaban, _a voice in his head reasoned with him, _how could she not already know?_

"Honey, can you pick up some fish for dinner?" A woman in her early forties called out to her husband as he rushed past her, tie hanging limply around his neck, cup of coffee in his hand. The hem of his black pinstripe cloak was all she saw as he rushed from the room, late for work as usual. Sheepish, the man appeared in the doorway once again, flushed from the running.

"Sure thing," he said with a smile as he came over to give his wife a kiss on the cheek before racing out of the door once again. She sighed as she watched him through their living room window, getting into his car and driving down the street before turning the corner and speeding out of sight. This was the part of the day that pained her most. She didn't mind that her husband was rarely around enough in the mornings to discuss certain matters with as he got home at a reasonable hour every night. However, being alone in a huge house from 7:30 in the morning until 6 at night often took a toll on a person after a while.

She had never liked working in an office. She was a writer. When she was younger, she started a book, a novel, a story about two lovers. She never finished it. Years later when she showed her husband the story, he asked why she never finished it and she just sighed and told him she lost her inspiration. That was true. He was her inspiration and when he left her, all the words, all the ideas that seemed to flow like water when he was around vanished suddenly and unexpectedly and had not since returned.

Her new career was slightly less exciting than when she wrote for her own enjoyment. Now the only things she wrote were the occasional columns for the magazine '_Witch Weekly'_. Only her husband and those closest to her knew that she was actually the one who wrote the self-help column every month. Month after month she churned out articles entitled '_Dinner Do's – how to make that extra special meal even more special!'_ and _'Tired of your old dress robes? How to make them sparklingly fabulous again!'_

It was actually a miracle that she wrote for a wizarding magazine at all. She had met a muggle man one day whilst shopping and after a few days, they went out and after a few months they got engaged and a year later, they were married. They moved to the suburbs where he got a job as an accountant and they had two children, which, thank goodness, displayed magical characteristics and were sent to Hogwarts the year before. She had told her husband about her 'heritage' after they were engaged but he did not believe her until after they were married. Now, 12 years later, he was still not fully accustomed to the idea and sent their children to 'normal' day camp every summer holidays for the past three years.

She sighed and looked down at the piece of parchment she was supposed to be using to jot down ideas for her next article and realised with a shock that she had been sitting there for almost an hour and written absolutely nothing. Shaking herself mentally, she dipped her quill into the small bottle of ink sitting on the desk next to her and poised it above the paper, ready to write the first thing that came into her head.

Nothing.

With a small sound of frustration, she dropped the quill onto the parchment and watched it leave tiny droplets of ink as it rolled to a stop. She was not entirely unhappy with her life; she had a husband, a big house, two children and a career but sometimes when nobody was looking, she sat down and thought about how she just wanted that little bit extra to make her life truly spectacular.

She used to view her life that way. With him around, life was never dull, it always held some form of surprise or another and she always felt safe and wonderful being around him. Even though, looking back with a small smile, life was anything but safe.

Shaking her head softly to clear it, she wandered over to the kitchen bench and flicked on the kettle, watching as the steam coming from the spout grew thicker and thicker. Once she had poured herself a fresh cup of coffee, she turned on the radio, thinking that maybe it would give her a little bit of inspiration or at least an idea to get her started on this month's article.

The radio crackled, the reception terrible in their part of the suburbs. She listened as advertisements for insurance companies, toothpaste and real estate floated from the speakers. A song or two played, nothing of real interest and then the news started. She wrinkled her nose, uninterested in current affairs and rose to turn the radio off at the switch when she heard something that caused her breath to catch in her throat. Turning the volume up a few notches, she made a face as the static also became louder. Listening as hard as she could to what the newsreader was saying, the following sentence was the only one she could make out.

_"And it has been confirmed by British governments static local man, Sirius Black static escaped last night from static prison. Black is considered highl- static -gerous and should not be-"_

That was all she heard before she flicked off the switch at the wall and sat down at the kitchen table in shock.


End file.
